


When The Doors Fall Away

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [20]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Author Has Gone Insane, Author Is Still Sleep Deprive, Bombs, Harassment, Kidnapping, Other, Past Relationship(s), Protective Ed, Protective Greg, Protective Sam, Secrets, Slurs, Stalking, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Greg, go start the car,” Ed ordered with a flat voice, eyes focused on the mobile device in his hand, “and Sam, get a hold of the dispatcher on shift and tell them be ready to do a phone trace.” <br/>“It’s not going to work,” Spike spoke up, picking at the skin by his nails, “He’s been using payphones and burners.”<br/>“This has happened before?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Doors Fall Away

**Author's Note:**

> I think I need to slow down XD part 20? Wow... That's not obsessive or anything. 
> 
> Anyway, my muse didn't cooperate with this story and I'm falling asleep so I apologize if it's not up to par. Please leave feedback (*longingly gazes at comment section like a love-struck teenager*) and thank you so much for everyone who has read, given kudos, and commented on my work. It means the world to me, guys. :)  
> Have a great day, readers, and I hope to see you in the next installment.
> 
> But first, a special thanks and shout-out to Penguin201 for inspiring this story with their prompt. Hope you like this story, and it's what you were looking for. ;)
> 
> A/N: I do not own Flashpoint, nor the characters. I do not make a profit from my writing. However, it's still my writing so please don't repost anywhere. Thanks!

Rolling over onto his side, Spike blinked away the sleepiness and picked up his ringing phone—and an unidentified number looked back. With a sigh, the brunette placed the device back down and turned off the ringer before swinging his legs off of the bed and rubbing an ache out of his shoulder.

He could see the screen light up again as a text message popped up, but the bomb tech ran a hand through his hair before simply standing up and walking towards the kitchen. He didn’t want to read it, didn’t want to acknowledge its presence.

He didn’t want to think of the thirty missed calls from constantly changing numbers, and a flurry of text messages he couldn’t be bothered to count.

Greg, Sam, and Ed were already in the living room drinking coffee, and Spike grabbed a mug before plopping into an open chair and wrapping a blanket around his torso. The blonde man moved from the couch to Spike’s chair and curled into the sliver of space—stealing a gulp of the bomb tech’s coffee even though he got a deadly glare in warning.

“I was afraid the team was going to be down a member today,” the older sniper joked, and Spike rolled his eyes and stifled a yawn.

“I just need to take a shower and make breakfast, and then I’m ready to go,” the bomb tech shrugged, balking when Greg offered to cook. Quickly drowning his coffee, Spike headed for the negotiator’s shower and rushed through the motions. He could hear the other men moving around in the bedroom, no doubt getting dressed, and he shut off the water—and the voices became clearer.

“Hello?”

Spike’s heart froze in his body, listening to Sam answer the phone and hoping to every deity that it wasn’t his phone—that it was one of the other men’s.

“Who the _fuck_ is this?” Sam yelled from the bedroom and Spike leaned against the bathroom wall as he tried to keep his breathing steady. He didn’t want to know what his ex-boyfriend was yelling over that phone, because he had a good idea from the messages and voicemails.

~~No one will ever love you. You’re worthless without me. Slut. Whore. Fuck up. Worthless. Piece of shit. You don’t even deserve me. You’re lucky someone like me even finds you attractive. You really think anyone could love a freak like you? Weak. Bitch. Pansy. Trash. You need me.~~

There was no hiding from this—the skeleton in his closet that had been peering out for two weeks now was falling free of the constraints he’d placed it in. And now he had to deal with the domino effect that followed.

Spike quickly tugged on his shirt, pulling up his pants and hanging up the towel he’d been using. The door opened under his hand but it seemed too heavy, like it was weighed down with the gravity of the situation.

Ed was holding the phone so tight that Spike was sure it was going to crumble in his hand, and he heard the loud shout from the other side of the line before it went dead.

“ _TELL THAT LITTLE BITCH TO WATCH HIS BACK!”_

Pressing his lips together so tight that they turned white, the bomb tech shifted his weight and studied the floor.

“Greg, go start the car,” Ed ordered with a flat voice, eyes focused on the mobile device in his hand, “and Sam, get a hold of the dispatcher on shift and tell them be ready to do a phone trace.”

“It’s not going to work,” Spike spoke up, picking at the skin by his nails, “He’s been using payphones and burners.”

“This has happened _before_? How long has this been going on?” Greg swallowed the anger in his voice, as it would get them nowhere, and walked over to Spike—drawing him into his arms. “How long have you been hiding this?”

“He’s only been trying to get ahold of me for about two weeks,” Spike shrugged, resting his chin on the negotiator’s shoulder and peering behind him at the two red-faced snipers who stood ramrod straight with clenched hands. “I’ve just been ignoring the calls and stuff.”

“And you didn’t think this was important for us to know?” Ed seethed, the calm brought on by the shock fading fast.

Spike pulled out of Greg’s embrace, sitting on the edge of the bed as he vaguely waved his hand at the phone in the older sniper’s hold.

“You can look through my voicemail and messages,” Spike told him, and watched with an almost amused sadness as the bald man did exactly that within seconds of receiving permission, “I just thought he’d give up if I didn’t answer. He was always all bark and no bite.”

“Obviously that changed,” Sam growled under his breath, but the bomb tech shook his head.

“Just because he threatened me doesn’t mean he’s going to do anything.”

“I want a name, Spike,” Greg leaned down, peering into his younger lover’s eyes, “and I want to know why he’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s my ex-boyfriend,” the brunette explained, “—but guys, can’t we talk about this after work?”

None of the three seemed to like that plan, but they didn’t retort so he took it as a shaky agreement. Walking out of the room, Spike strolled to the kitchen and grabbed some cereal out of the pantry. He sat down at the table with his food, watching Ed continue to go through the endless messages as Greg and Sam peered over the bald sniper’s shoulder.

“I still want that name,” Greg told him as he looked up from where he was scanning the phone, and the three of them were only getting tenser with the more they read. Spike was glad he hadn’t gone through what was written; it didn’t look good from the expressions on his lovers’ faces.

“And you’ll get it,” The brunette said as he swallowed down the last of his breakfast, “after work.”

“And an address—,” Ed cut in, handing the phone over to Sam as he moved so he was standing next to Spike; his hands were planted on the table, and his back was bent until they were eye to eye.

“After work,” The bomb tech assured him, lightly pushing him back so he could stand and take his dishes to the sink.

After work, all hell was going to break loose.

 

* * *

 

“Team One, hot call,” Winnie shouted from her desk, reading from her desktop and letting her fingers fly across the keyboard, “possible bomb at Terfield Hospital.”

Spike jumped from his chair, already out of the briefing room, and grinned at the dispatcher.

“I’m coming for you, Babycakes!”

The team followed behind, watching as their bomb tech powered up the bomb robot and wheeled her towards the truck and up the ramp—and the brunette happily cooed at the machine the entire time.

Sam rolled his eyes, still tense from the morning’s admissions, and pulled the Italian into one of the SUVs. There wasn’t any mocking chit chat that usually clogged up the radio when the two rode alone, but Spike filled the silence as he tried to get all the information he could from Winnie.

“Do they have a visual?” The tech asked, already connecting to the hospital’s cameras on the laptop poised above the center consol.

“They said it was in the emergency room,” The dispatcher responded, and Spike switched between the video feeds as he looked for any signs of the device.

“Can you tell the LEOs to set a hundred foot perimeter?” Spike bit his lip, scanning the feeds, and sneaked a look at Sam—who was driving with hands clamped tight on the steering wheel, stiffness evident on every inch of his body.

“On it.”

Stopping on one specific camera, Spike studied the screen as he peered at the box near the nurses’ station. There were no visible wires or triggers, but the bomb tech knew in the pit of his stomach that this was what he was looking for.

“I think I see it,” Spike told the dark haired dispatcher—because Sam obviously wasn’t in the mood for talking by the way he was glaring at the road, “there’s a box by the nurses’ desk.”

“Is that it?” Jules asked over the radio, breaking off from her conversation with Raf.

“Looks like it,” Spike said offhandedly as he continued to scan through the feeds.

The silence from his three lovers, who were usually pretty talkative, was a bit unnerving for Spike—more so than his ex-boyfriend trying to reach him constantly—but they arrived at the scene soon enough that he managed to shake it off.

“Let’s go, Babycakes,” Spike smiled, jumping out of the car as soon as it stopped and patting his vest to make sure he had his cutters with him. The comforting feel of the essential tool grounded him just a little because he wasn’t getting it—like he normally did—from Greg or Sam or Ed. There were no pats on the back, no quirky quips, no steady gaze; the things that let his mind stop its stumbling assessment of the entire world and focus down to what job he was doing. So he had to wing it, and work with what he had while his lovers were too wound up in their own little world—and somewhere a nagging voice, in the back of his head, tried to explain that they had a right to be high strung and concerned, because what was going on was a serious issue even if Spike had pushed it away and labeled it a “nuisance problem”.

The blocky machine rolled through the emergency room’s doors as Spike followed behind while giving the robot a wide berth—in case there was anything else in the area.

“Let’s see what we got,” the bomb tech mumbled to himself, and as Babycakes rolled up to the device he continued, “deploying countermeasures against remote detonators—,”

“I wouldn’t do that,” A thick male voice cut off his sentence, and a gun pressed against the back of his neck as Spike froze. “Wouldn’t want this to go off, would we? Now put down the controller.”

Following the command, Spike slowly crouched down and placed Babycake’s controller on the cold tile of the hospital floor—and nobody on the team had heard the man’s voice, his mind sighed.

“Todd, you don’t want to do this,” Spike tried, raising his arms slightly in the universal sign of surrender, “Just—,”

“One more word and the bomb goes off,” His ex-boyfriend grinned, removing the gun from Spike’s neck and moving into his line of sight so he could see the detonator in the man’s other hand. “And trust me; it’s powerful enough to take out the _friends_ you’ve got out there.”

“Spike? Is the subject in the building?” Jules was the first to talk, but after that it fell into a mess of commands and tactical plans.

“Now, remove your weapons and put them on the ground.”

The bomb tech did as he was told, doing his best to not make eye contact because he didn’t want to see the dead look in those green eyes—he didn’t want to see the insanity he thought he’d fled long ago.

“Now, we’re going to go out the ambulance bay doors, and if you try anything I’d be more than happy to put a bullet in you.”

Keeping his mouth shut, because he knew how unstable this man was, Spike slowly walked towards the doors until the barrel of the gun smacked against the back of his skull and forced him to go faster even though the world was starting to spin.

The car was sitting in the hot sun, and the metal burned his face as Todd shoved him against the vehicle. Rough hands pulled his arms behind his back, and there was the familiar sound of a zip tie as it closed around his wrist.

“Now, get in the car and lay on the floor,” the man commanded, and added angrily, “and give me that!”

The earpiece was ripped from him with a wince before it met its untimely demise under Todd’s foot.

Unceremoniously, Spike was pushed into the car and most of his weight ended up pressing his shoulder into the floor. The bomb tech felt hands on the thick material of his boots, so he hazarded a look only to see Todd tying his feet up with a rope.

“Look—,” Spike started, but he only got his ankle twisted painfully for his efforts.

“Shut up!” Todd barked, slamming the backseat door and storming over to the driver’s seat.

The car roared to life, engine stuttering slightly before rumbling steady, and his ex-boyfriend sped off—nearly taking out a cruiser that was pulling around the corner. At that, cover so quickly blow, Todd let out a string of swears and pressed the gas pedal down.

Spike felt his body jar at the sudden change of speed, and he tried to move himself behind the driver’s seat so he was a harder target to get at. He managed to do it near silently—and it helped that there was a fleet of cruisers chasing them, sirens blaring. Then he managed to get his fingers wrapped around the rope tying his ankles together and worried at the knot. It fell apart under his hands, and with some careful shuffling he freed his legs.

Now, if only he could get his hands free…

That thought was shocked out of him when the car spun violently, throwing Spike against the door.

_P.I.T. maneuver,_ he groaned internally, and Team One was immediately at the driver’s side door—guns pointed, shouting, and dragging Todd onto the ground with little care.

Then his door was opened, and Ed was pulling him out thoughtfully—setting him on his feet and checking for any injuries. Hands roamed his entire body and held his arms still as a knife cut through the binding keeping his wrists together.

“I’m fine,” Spike told him, acutely aware of the bruise he was going to have from where he’d hit the door. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Greg grumbled, watching as Jules and Wordy dragged the subject off.

“Bomb’s defused.” Sam shouted as he jogged towards them, and Spike gave an amused look at the car he was coming from—the front bumper visibly dented. “Bomb squad just called.”

Spike pouted, but Ed slapped him upside the head—lightly—and dragged him towards one of the SUVs.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” Spike asked, his humor slightly fueled by the shock still running through his veins.

He only got a glare in return.

 

* * *

 

To say he was tired was an understatement, and Spike just wanted to sleep. However, Greg and Ed were still ready to grill him for information and Sam didn’t seem to mind the idea.

“It’s over,” Spike yawned, running a hand through his hair and messing up the brown locks even further, “He’s arrested—,”

“I think we’re more concerned about why you didn’t tell us this was going on.” Ed cut him off, making the bomb tech sigh as he fought to stay awake.

“I told you, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. If he’d been showing up or stalking me, then I would have told you immediately but I didn’t see the point of causing a fuss over some mean messages.”

Greg groaned, leaning his head against the back of the couch and scrubbing his hands over his face.

“But if it makes you feel better,” Spike continued, getting up and rambling to the bedroom because he was going to bed, damn it. “I will tell you immediately if one of my exes starts harassing me.”

“You better,” Ed muttered, getting up and following their younger lover as Sam and Greg filtered into the bedroom, too.

“That same applies to you three, too,” Spike told them mockingly, speech slurred by the need for sleep, and they all nodded before Ed forced Spike onto the bed and crawled on after him.

“Uh huh,” The older sniper yawned, half-collapsing on the bomb tech even as Spike let out a squawk of protest.

“No more skeletons in the closet,” Greg told them all seriously, as he crawled under the covers and Sam turned off the lights before joining them.

“Good night.” Greg muttered into Sam’s neck, and Ed mumbled his response back even though his mouth was pressed against Spike’s mop of hair.

“Night.”

“Sweet dreams,” Sam puffed, throwing his limbs over whoever was near him as he settled down.

“N _iiii_ ght.” Spike yawned, giving up on trying to push Ed off of him, and the night fell silent after that.

No calls, no messages, no hateful words, nothing.

Just silence, and four men in love.

 


End file.
